My Hero
by Aldenon
Summary: Anders returns to the Circle to deliver a lecture on the nature of the Architect and meets Hawke, who was captured during her flight from Lothering and is now Kinloch Hold's newest escape artist. AU.
1. A Commander's Order

Chapter One: A Commander's Order

"Ah," Anders breathed out in contentment as he propped his back against the stone wall in the unusually quiet mess hall of the Keep, "this is the life, eh Pounce?"

"Mrow." The increasingly chubby tabby expressed his agreement briefly before cocking his head to the side and chewing on a particularly tough piece of pork directly from the mage's plate.

"Yep. In war, victory or some nonsense, and in peace, we do whatever we want." He propped his feet up on the bench, scratched behind the cat's ears and stole another piece of the meat for himself.

He wasn't much for the quiet, it reminded him of the Circle too much. Most of his life had been spent in quiet desperation, from the hushed tone of peers under the scrutiny of Templars to the deafening silence in the quarters after dark. Quiet and alone led to reflection and he wasn't much for that either. For what did he have to reflect upon? The fond memories of a year spent in solitary confinement?

Old anger crept into his heart and he glanced about the emptiness of the hall and sighed, finally resting his eyes upon the fire blazing in the hearth a few feet away. He breathed easy with the knowledge that he didn't have to spend another moment alone in the quiet if he didn't want to, that he could very well get up and go anywhere that he pleased.

A small smile tugged at his lips then.

He was slowly building upon new memories and those were of freedom. He thought about the time that he stood in the rain for no other reason than the fact that he could, the time that he danced around drunkenly atop the battlement of the Keep and yelled more than sang a dirty limerick down to a cheering Oghren and an annoyed Nathaniel, the time that he tied Justice's lyrium ring to Pounce's collar and laughed as he watched the spirit climb a tree after him.

No, the quiet wasn't for him; he preferred the crowded din of the Crown and Lion, the busy streets in the marketplace, and the camaraderie of his friends. Every day was a cause for celebration, for each day brought some newfound freedom.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you." The Warden Commander's normally lilting voice had an edge to it that snapped his focus to her quickly.

"Couldn't have been looking that hard," he replied with his mouth full, spilling bread crumbs over his tunic.

"Take a look at this." She tossed a folded letter down onto the table and crossed her arms.

"What's that?" He met her crystal blue eyes and stared expectantly the whole while that he finished chewing, but she simply tapped her foot and gave a quick nod towards the apparently offensive letter.

"There's no need to be so dramatic," he joked, but she was peeved by something and in that case it was best to just do as she says, so he rolled his eyes and unfolded the letter, not bothering to wipe his hands and smudging his fingerprints onto the corners of the parchment.

He skimmed over the absurdly long, formal address to the recipient and chuckled. "What? Did they leave a title out?"

"Hmph." A bit of a smile ghosted across her lips and quickly faded, and he forced his smirk back into a pretend look of concentration as he settled his eyes back to skimming over the letter.

|As you know, I have reluctantly agreed to take up office as the new First Enchanter of the Ferelden Circle…|

|Everything is now very much in order and classes have reconvened…|

|A lecture regarding the nature of the Architect…|

|Very much appreciated and you will no doubt find that this request would prove beneficial…|

|-First Enchanter Wynne|

Anders haphazardly tossed the letter back onto the table in an uproarious fit of laughter.

"I wouldn't be so quick to laugh. I'm not doing it…you are," she stated matter-of-factly.

He coughed away his suddenly dry throat and whipped his head up at her. "You can't be serious."

"I am. I have too much on my plate right now, Anders. And-"

"So do I," he interrupted with an air of self-importance, pinched up a bit of meat and held it out to the tabby, "and it isn't going to eat itself. Isn't that right, Ser Pounce –A-Lot?"

A brief moment of silence was met on both ends in which the Commander seethed at his inability to take anything seriously and Anders pointedly ignored her while sending a prayer to the Maker that she would just drop it and go away.

"So help me, I will make you get rid of that damned cat," she said in an agitated rush.

He sucked in a sharp intake of breath. "You wouldn't!" He scooped Pounce up into his arms, and carefully covered his furry ears. "He can hear you, you know. You're going to hurt his feelings."

"You know I wouldn't really do that." She huffed at his hurt expression and shook her head.

"I think you should apologize to him."

"Anders," she ground out his name as a warning through clenched teeth, "between assassination attempts, rebuilding Amaranthine and Maker knows the state of Ferelden, I don't have time to do this but Wynne is right. They need to archive all that they can, and we are the only mages that can explain-"

"I'm not hearing an apology," he sung out, and grinned widely as she threw her hands up.

He held the cat up in front of his face and talked for it, in his: this is what Pounce would sound like if he could talk voice, "Pwease don't sends me away, I likes it here."

She stared in disbelief for a beat and, tight lipped, she forced the words out, "I'm sorry."

Satisfied, he sat Pounce back onto the table, who then scurried back to his meal.

Anders cleared his throat and fixed her with a level gaze as if nothing that just happened was silly in the least. "You were saying?"

She took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose in preparation of pleading with him. "Things are pretty well under control here and Alistair needs my help. I'm going to Denerim, I haven't seen my husband in months. So please-"

"I told you that anytime you felt lonely…" He waggled his eyebrows.

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "You are impossible!"

"Impossibly adorable. Impossibly irresistible. Impossibly-"

"Annoying." She pointed a finger at him and took on a firm tone. "You're doing this. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

"But-"

"No. End of discussion." She turned to leave and he was immediately following right on her heel.

"Mellie, please, I don't want to go back there. What if they try to lock me up?"

"They wouldn't dare try that on a Warden, and they'll be under strict orders from Alistair to treat you as royalty while you're there."

He scoffed. "I'm sure that will be a right comfort to me when they royally throw me into a cell."

"They won't."

"They might."

"I'm about to throw you into a cell here."

"Kinky. What will you tell your husband about the conjugal visits I assume I'll be getting?"

She stopped and turned so abruptly in the doorway of her office that he bumped into her.

He propped both hands onto either side of the frame and smirked down at her. "Giving in are we? I knew you couldn't resist my charms forever."

She sighed and shook her head in humorous contempt, then poked him in the stomach.

"Ow. Not how I imagine we'd start things but I'm willing to experiment." He rubbed the sore spot and pouted like a kicked puppy as he followed her inside.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked distractedly while gathering up various papers and documents that were strewn across her desk.

She caught herself and looked up at him quickly to see that his mouth was already open and about to spout any number of lewd suggestions her way.

"I really stepped in it with that one didn't I?" She bit her lip and cringed.

He folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow at her. "What's happened to you? I wouldn't dare take advantage of that one. It'd be like taking candy from a lyrium-addled Templar."

She laughed easily and openly, forgetting the pressures of her duties for the moment and remembering why she loved this flirty goofball in front of her, because even in the worst of times, he could always make her laugh. She needed that, and her train of thought took her to the man she missed dearly who shared the same trait.

Coming back to herself, she chuckled and waved her hand dismissively. "Well, I don't want to hear whatever-I'm sure well thought out-suggestions you may have."

"Aww, but they're really good." He mock-whined and she let out another short bark of laughter before getting back down to business.

"Do you know what else is going to be good? You. There will be no snide remarks made towards the Templars, no goofing off, no pranks, and under no circumstances are you to spend your time flirting with apprentices."

Barely containing a laugh under her glare, he solemnly crossed his heart with one hand and crossed his fingers behind his back with the other.

"I mean it. You will be representing the Wardens and I expect you to behave as such, if I hear otherwise…"

"I cannot possibly think what could be worse than this." He furrowed his brow and slumped into a chair, rubbing at his temples.

"Now who's being dramatic?"

"Way to kick a man while he's down, you bloody evil, no-good traitorous Templar loving…woman," he muttered on under his breath, but loud enough so that she caught every word.

"It won't be so bad, Wynne will look after you and you know I wouldn't send you there if I thought you would come to harm."

"Well that's easy for you to say, you were Irving's little pet. Need I remind you that my experiences there differed vastly from yours?"

She took a seat and looked at his bowed head with pity. "I know," she said softly.

Brushing old memories aside, he groaned and plopped back. "If I was agreeing, which I'm not, how long am I to stay there? And what am I even to say during this-no doubt prove to be beneficial-lecture?"

"A week at the most, and I have notes. You'll have plenty of time to study them and add your own while we travel."

"You know, Velanna would make for a far more interesting travelling companion. Just think of all the fun you two would have gallivanting across Ferelden! Passers-by would marvel and wet themselves in fright at the host of angry trees following you about! And well, that's about all she does, but you have to admit, it does sound like an all-around merry adventure!"

She pretended to take it under consideration and thoughtfully tapped a finger to her lips. "Hmm, tempting."

He perked up and ran with the idea, eager to pawn this trip off on anyone. "I think they'd all get along swimmingly. She's a not-at-all crazy mage with excellent social skills."

Upon seeing the faintest glimmer of hope in his eyes, she could not continue the ruse. "Nope. I'm sorry but I need someone that I trust."

He squinted at her. "You just wait until I tell her you said that."

She shrugged. "You know what I mean. She's…flaky."

"I'm flaky." He pointed a thumb back at himself. "I'm the flakiest flake that ever flaked."

"True. But even so, she wasn't even there when-"

He slapped his hand onto the desk in defeat and stood. "Right. I never thanked you properly for that. Did you see the way that Architect looked at me? I realize that I'm the most handsome piece of eye candy you have to flaunt about, but next time, show me off in something other than a blighted hole filled with darkspawn!"

A moment passed where all she did was blink at him slowly.

"I'm done with you, get out. And not out to the tavern, take these to your room and start packing. We'll be making an early start." She slid the stack of journals over to him, and when he made no move to retrieve them she walked around and shoved them into his hands.

"You're really going to throw your poor little defenseless Anders back to the wolves?"

She turned him by his shoulders and patted his back as she ushered him to the door. "No, I'm sending my big, capable Anders to complete a very important task."

"Don't try to butter me up, I can see straight through it and besides, there are better ways to go about it. You could start by-Hey!" He turned and she closed the door right in his face. "Yeah, well, I never liked you anyways and…and you're too…short…for my taste."

"I heard that."

"Good. You were meant to. Now if you'll excuse me, I have things of varying import which require my immediate attention…like rallying everyone to a mutinous revolt."

"Goodnight, Anders."


	2. Run Hawke Run

8 Months Ago

Riley Hawke was never the most cautious of apostates, despite her Father's teachings, but she at least tried to be inconspicuous on the docks at Gwaren.

The crowd was massive with all walks of life crammed shoulder to shoulder on a small strip of land, everyone clamoring to be a passenger on the next ship to board. Fights broke out in a chaotic pattern across the throngs, causing a push and pull effect that threatened even the most light-footed among them. Her small build and short stature did not help, so she was grateful to huddle in close behind Carver, and maintained a tenuous grasp on his tunic.

Her brother kept an arm around their Mother and a hand on Aveline's shoulder in front of him. Determined to stay together, they were patiently making their way through in this fashion, when a man twice Hawke's size slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. Her yelp of surprise was lost in the cacophony of voices and though Carver felt her absence, he was powerless to turn around as the crowd pushed her family further away.

In a state of panic, she realized she would be trampled to death in a matter of minutes as she struggled for breath and strained to rise amongst kicks to her ribs and face. Without thinking of consequences, rather as a reflex to save her own life, she casted a small force spell that pushed everyone back from her.

Bruised and weakened, she stood in the center of the ring she'd created as wary strangers gazed at her in fear and began to shout. "Apostate! Witch! Maker preserve us!"

Sorry, rotten luck. Her head spinning, Bethany's voice replayed in her thoughts. _"Well the Maker has a sense of humor."_

All sound was sucked from the world but for her heartbeat as tears welled up in her eyes, her family had come through so much to get here, only to be ripped apart again.

She caught a glimpse of Carver fighting his way back to her in a sea of angry people. His eyes met hers and she shook her head as a silent plea for him to stop. There would be no way through now, not for her, and not for them if her family showed their association. Her only hope now would be to hide in wait for a later ship. She turned and ran, the crowd hastily parting for her.

Stumbling with exhaustion and an injury to her left leg, she persisted to the edge of the crowd with survival and instinct driving her limbs forward. She scanned the dips of shadows in between the dilapidated shacks of loggers and fishermen, and merchant's shorefront businesses, quickly debating which alleyway to disappear in. The ports were the dead center of this city, with many crisscrossing streets all built on an incline up the mountainside, to the north lay the Brecilian Forest and therein her best hope of escape.

Her stomach lurched violently with her first step toward the chosen destination; in the corner of her eye she saw a flash of silver. Dread and adrenaline prickled up her spine when she turned her head to see three crests of the flaming sword rapidly approaching.

Her body screamed in protest at the speed with which she fled, and all the while she cursed herself for always relying on her sister or Father for healing. Narrowly avoiding an oncoming ox-cart in the street, she tripped over a crate but quickly recovered and blindly stole down the first alley she came upon.

Thoughts and pulse racing, she weaved the dank and cluttered passages with surprising agility, the pursuit of plated boots clanging against the cobblestone in her ears. She wiped her brow of the sweat stinging her eyes with her forearm as she ran; the choke dampened heat trapped between buildings placed too closely together awarded no favors.

Turning another corner at an intersection, she was tackled for a second time, though not by accident. Her staff was broken on impact, her right arm popped out of socket as they slid, and still she fought against the unimaginable weight crushing down on her.

Lightning jumped across her fingertips but subsided in the wake of pain shooting through her arm when more hands grabbed her and yanked her to her feet. She screamed in agony with a hoarse and parched throat, yet nothing she'd ever experienced prepared her for the feeling that came next.

A hot, tingling sensation started in her chest and spread like wildfire through her veins, she dropped to her knees and fell forward onto her hands, dizzy and gasping, her body quaking with a violation so deep, as if someone reached in and tore out vital parts.

She struggled to think through her haze and dry heaved from nausea when she tried to shake away the clouds in her vision.

They wasted no time in taking advantage of her state; she was divested of her pack and belt, one Templar rummaging through her belongings as another clasped manacles around her wrists, tearing another ragged cry from her throat as he wrenched her hands behind her back.

"State your name, apostate," said a third, a feminine voice as stern and unwavering as the looming stance she took in front of her captive.

Hawke stared at the tip of the sword inches from her face and gave a soft bitter laugh that tapered off, her delirium was fading and realization was dawning darkly on a bleak horizon.

For twenty-two years she had avoided capture, and somehow, everything her Father had worked so hard to protect was tossed to the Void inside a week.

"Get her up."

Hawke gritted her teeth against the throbbing in her shoulder as she was lifted, betraying none of her fear as she locked steady eyes onto those of the Templar who studied her.

The woman sheathed her sword and stepped closer, a brow raised high with suspicion. "I don't recognize you. To which Circle do you belong?"

There wasn't an answer to give here, if she told the truth they would surely accuse her of blood magic and worse, her family would be at risk.

"Speak, mage," she ordered with a sneer.

Riley stared back, her face frozen in impassivity but for the cold hatred in her eyes.

"Very well, if you do not, I have no choice but to brand you a maleficar and slay you where you stand." The Templar reached for her sword.

Outraged, she worked her jaw and coughed around the dry lump in her throat, had she any saliva she would spit in the woman's face. "Hawke. I am no blood mage."

"I will be the judge of that." She patted Hawke down, finding and removing the dagger she kept hidden in her boot, grabbing her by the injured shoulder whether intentional or not, Hawke didn't know, she turned her around and checked her wrists for scarring.

"It seems you speak truthfully." She spun her back around and nodded to the Templar investigating her pack. "Anything of interest?"

"No Ser. A few trinkets, some clothing, lyrium vials and healing poultices," he replied.

She turned her attention back to her captive. "Are you travelling with others of your kind?"

"No."

"I'll ask you again, which Circle did you escape from?"

To this, Hawke went quiet once more with a defiant stare, eliciting a frustrated sigh from her inquisitor.

"By order of the Chantry, I, Ser Rylock, do admit you into the Circle of Ferelden until such time as your prior records are known."

She handed the dagger off to her second in command as he hoisted the pack onto his shoulder. "Find Ser Mallory and retrieve your gear, the two of you will be escorting this apostate immediately."

"Should we not wait?"

"No. Report on the situation here. If we have not found Jowan in three days' time, I will send word."

He nodded his assent and disappeared around the corner, leaving Hawke feeling better about her odds. Always run, never fight. Her Father had instilled this as a number one rule to live by when dealing with Templars, but seeing as she had failed in that respect, she steeled herself for any incoming blows and prepared to break her bonds with a frost spell.

Her call to the Fade was not answered, despite feeling the smallest reserve of mana. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as she realized from the tingling about her wrists that the cuffs were designed to ward magic.

"Let's move out," Ser Rylock commanded, and the Templar at Hawke's back pushed her forward.

They guided her back down and through the marketplace and as they passed the crowd of people at the docks, Hawke kept her eyes forward, not daring to appear as though she were seeking anyone.

She vowed that she would see her family again, she would bide her time, and be ever watchful for an opportunity to escape until she was free once more.

By listening intently to their mostly inane chatter while they travelled, Riley came to know her escorts over the next few days as Ser Mallory and Ser Connell. She did not speak a single word to either of them, only trudged along as obediently as a pack mule, and seemingly as dull-witted.

Ser Mallory was the more kindly of the pair; she was a young fresh-faced recruit with a bubbly voice and a cheerful disposition. Hawke rolled her eyes many times at the drivel she spouted and thought her a fool, like so many others, that believed they were doing the Maker's work.

Yet it was she who held a health poultice to Riley's lips after popping her shoulder back into place. And for that, at least, she was grateful even if she did not express it. For if it were left to Ser Connell, who regarded her more often than not with as much indifference he would show an inanimate package to be delivered, she would've had to endure her pain for the entire trek.

They intended to take the North Road to avoid the darkspawn, and she was tied to a tree for the two nights they camped along the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest. The first night she did not sleep, opting instead to try and wriggle free of the ropes about her waist, but they proved too tight and all effort was futile.

Exhaustion took her the second night and she was glad, for the next day she gleaned that they would be passing through Denerim for supplies. It was the best opportunity to present itself thus far and she was well rested, although she could not use her magic, she could attempt to lose them in the crowd.

Riley remained focused and alert as she passed through the main gate of the marketplace with a Templar on each arm. She found herself once more in the same predicament, another city in which the layout was strange to her, but nevertheless she had to try _something._

A stroke of luck came as they rounded the first corner and a messenger nearly bowled Ser Connell over in his haste, knocking free his grip. In an instant Hawke wrested away and took off toward the bustling center of the market, but for every stroke of good luck came the bad, standing proudly to her left was another Chantry. Where there were Chantries, there were undoubtedly Templars, in this case _more_Templars to join in the hunt.

Without pause she veered to the right, upsetting the balance of several citizens as she crashed through them. She glanced back, seeing that two more Templars were rushing up behind her captors to help, a blinding white pain rattled her skull when she turned her head forward again, courtesy of taking a full-plated elbow right between the eyes with enough force to send her flying backwards.

It was several minutes before she could open her eyes and when she did she saw Ser Connell greet a fifth Templar with a handshake. "Knight-Commander Tavish, thank you Ser."

"Why! Ser Connell! I would think that I had taught you better than this lad, or did your training go in one ear and out the other?"

"No Ser. But this one seemed rather docile." They both looked down at her and she spat the blood that had run down into her mouth in their direction, it fell just short of their boots and she was hauled up by the other Templars surrounding her.

Ser Tavish simply smirked and turned back to his little protégé. "Ah, don't be fooled. Every apostate is a schemer, that's why you should always leash them in crowded areas. I presume you are escorting this one to the Circle, yes?"

"Yes Ser. We were only stopping briefly at the Chantry for supplies."

"Well then, you had best be on your way." He clapped him on the back in what Hawke thought was a sickening display of affection.

_"No better way to bond than by hunting mages, eh?"_ she grumbled inwardly at their smiles and pleasantries.

"And I trust that you will proceed with more caution for the remainder of your journey?" Ser Tavish continued, and Hawke felt faint at the idea of being collared as a beast.

"Yes Ser. Thank you again, Ser." They clasped hands one last time and parted ways, and the look in Ser Connell's eyes as he passed her said that she would pay for causing him such embarrassment.

As it turned out, the worst punishment she received was indeed a collar around her neck, with a lengthy amount of rope bound securely to Ser Connell's wrist. If he took any sadistic pleasure he did not openly show it, but tugged often on her leash, causing her to stumble along the road.

Once again, Ser Mallory treated her wound, and chastised her for her perceived foolishness, "You should not have run."

Hawke stared listlessly back at her.

"This will scar. It's a pity, you have such a pretty face."

She snorted at the girl, hardly believing that she would speak to her as a friend, and replied with her first words to her, "Leave me be."

Ser Mallory became more reserved after that, for the rest of the way to Lake Calenhad she only tossed Hawke looks of disappointment every now and then, as a Mother would to a scolded child.

They pushed onward with more speed after leaving Denerim and arrived at the docks late on the fifth day since her capture. The ferryman spoke ominously of a recent catastrophe in the Circle, but insisted that he knew no more other than witnessing two Grey Wardens return from a visit to the Tower earlier in the day.

From the distance, great billows of smoke could be seen rising alongside the spire.

Riley knew of Kinloch Hold, but the stories she'd heard did not do it justice, it was grand and yet dismal, knowing its purpose made the latter true in more than appearance. As they neared the shore of the island, she studied the architecture more closely to keep her nervousness at bay, only to have it spike tenfold when she noted that there were no windows. Higher and higher she peered until she saw the glint off of panes at the very top, and the glare of the still too-bright setting sun forced her eyes shut.

Realizing that she should have tried harder to escape while on the road, or done a number of things differently along the way, she had a momentary fatalistic impulse to capsize the boat. She took deep, calming breaths and wished she hadn't, the stench of whatever was burning was unbelievably foul, turning her already tender stomach.

They docked and she read the confusion plastered across Ser Connell's face at the main entrance doors standing wide open. He bade her to follow with a tug to her leash, and drew her to the side when they reached the top of the steps to make way for two Templars carrying a bulky carcass out the exit.

Hawke gasped in horror, having never seen an abomination before except by pictures and descriptions in books.

Apparently, neither had Ser Mallory as of yet, who abruptly covered her eyes at the gruesome sight and began a well-rehearsed verse of the Chant.

Stepping into the main hall, Hawke noticed one Templar in particular huddled to himself in the corner and muttering utter nonsense. His eyes lit up when he noticed her attention and she took a hesitant step back upon his quick approach.

She felt relieved when the man grabbed onto Ser Connell's shoulders instead. "Thank the Maker! Connell, you have to reason with them! No one will listen to me! I've tried to tell Greagoir that it still isn't safe!"

"Calm down, man! What's happened here?"

The man gasped for breath, frantically trying to explain everything at once. "The mages they…Uldred! Bl-blood magic! They're all demons!"

An older Templar with fine gray hair and a beard to match in colour stepped forward, exuding authority, and interrupted, "Maker Cullen! What are you doing down here?" He looked about. "Someone get him back to the infirmary!"

A pair of men immediately responded to his order and dragged Cullen out of sight down the hall as he shouted in protest and continued to babble incoherently.

"Everything is under control." The old man nodded in the direction they took Cullen and shook his head. "He's had quite an ordeal, poor sod, he's still in shock."

"Wha-" Ser Connell began.

"Uldred happened. He rebelled and began turning other mages into abominations."

"Are all the mages dead, then?"

"Irving survived, along with a handful of others. But I fear all would've been lost if not for the interference of the Wardens. In any case, the situation has been dealt with, as you can see, our duty now is to restore order."

"What are your orders, Commander?"

His eyes flicked to Riley and back to his subordinate. "I would have your report."

"Of course, Ser. We apprehended this apostate trying to board ship in Gwaren. She has only given her name to be Hawke, and will not speak otherwise. Ser Rylock confirmed the absence of dark magicks, but she has attempted to flee on two occasions. The Knight-Captain will also send word, as we had yet to find the maleficar, Jowan, prior my departure five days ago."

"I see." He stroked his beard and temporarily eyed Hawke in contemplation. "We have enough to deal with as it is. Irving left to aid the Wardens with a situation in Redcliffe, he should return in a few days and we will begin the initiation process then. Place her in the holding cells for now and report back to me when it is done."

"Yes, Ser."

If Hawke heard one more person say Ser, she was going to bash her brains into the nearest wall.

She remained perfectly still as Ser Connell removed the collar about her neck, and winced slightly when the salty breeze wafting through the doors caressed her raw skin. He guided her by the arm once more, through hallways littered with debris and corpses, down into a labyrinth on the lower floor that he navigated expertly, finally coming to a halt in a room with four empty cells.

He picked one at random and locked the door behind her, only then did he remove her cuffs by reaching in through the bars.

And then he was gone without a second glance, leaving Riley completely alone.

She inspected her surroundings, the cell providing an open view of the room on all sides but for the wall at the back. Finally free of her bonds she shook away the numbness in her hands, ignoring the pain in her chafed wrists as she did so. Her first thought of melting the iron bars disappeared as quickly as it came upon seeing the glyphs and runes set into the floor and ceiling.

She tried her magic anyway, desperately trying to conjure the smallest wisp of a spell and failing over and over again. She looked around for anything to help, she had no idea what, and only found a make-shift bed of hay covered with a thin blanket and a chamberpot in the corner. She pressed her ear to the wall and ran her hands along it, tapping here and there and checking the soundness of the stone.

Dropping to her knees, she blinked back tears and stared at a stain on the floor of her cell, then looked up and stared straight ahead at the wall. Seeing a small carving, she scooted closer, it read: Anders wuz here.

To occupy her mind of anything other than her own wretched fate, she tried to imagine who this person was, and if they were still alive-

She stopped short and burst into tears, unable to hold back the perfect storm of so many emotions she kept hidden since her capture. No, since she fled her home.

She pounded on the wall with her fists and sobbed violently, letting it all out.


	3. Conspiracies and Troublemakers Pt1

"Do you have to chew directly into my ear?"

"Hmm, let me think about it. Yes, yes I do." Anders took another bite of his apple and purposely smacked his lips right next to the Commander's ear.

She huffed loudly to let him know her displeasure but otherwise held her tongue, for it was her own fault they were in this increasingly uncomfortable position; she should have made him learn to ride a horse when she took her lessons months ago from Nathaniel, but he had refused out of spite due to a drunken tiff with the archer the night before. However it certainly made her day to watch his humorous attempt to ride one anyway when they set out this morning. He had done circles in the courtyard and never steered in what could even remotely be called the vicinity of the gate, and only gave up when he spooked the horse and nearly fell from the saddle.

He returned her loud huff mockingly with one of his own. "Well I don't know what you expect me to do about it aside from keeping my head turned at all times, and I can't do that, not only would the scenery bore me to death but I'd get a crick in my neck and that would be just as fatal. Or so I hear."

"You could try _not_ eating constantly."

"I barely had any breakfast besides that awful gruel you call porridge. Might I ask _why_ you are trying to kill me?"

"Because your hands keep wandering outside of what I expressly defined as the safety zone."

He grinned deviously, quite glad that she couldn't see his face, and tightened his grip around her waist just as she tried to scoot forward and claim what little room was left in the saddle.

"Normally I'd say go on, flatter yourself, but I'm honestly trying not to fall off into the steaming trail of horseshit. What are you feeding this thing anyway? At least Pounce has the decency to cover his up." He rested his chin on her shoulder and pouted. "I miss him already."

She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye and pouted back. "You could've brought him."

"I really couldn't, he won't fit into my pocket anymore. I swear, Nate had better take good care of him or I will-"

"Nate! You asked him and he…agreed?"

"Who else? The spirit who doesn't understand the concept of, well, almost _everything_? Or how about the always drunk dwarf that pets him too hard?"

She laughed. "Valid points."

"They are, aren't they?" he said, as if just then coming to the realization himself. "Come to think of it, you should appreciate having me around more than you do…I'm just sayin'."

"I do…just not in the way you would like."

He lifted his chin and sat up straight, trying to concentrate on anything other than the torture he was feeling by having her hips rock back against his.

"It's really not fair, you know. I saw you first, a long time before Ser Perfect came along with his bulging muscles and his...actually, have you spoken with him about his hair yet? It's kind of tragic if you ask me."

"His hair is…fine okay?"

"Ha! A flaw! Maybe you should casually bring it up when we get there, like right in front of me, so he can look upon my gorgeous flowing locks with envy instead of me looking at him that way for everything else."

She snorted. "If you'd stop frequenting the brothels then maybe you would find a decent girl to settle down with."

"Woah, woah, woah. Let's not get carried away-"

The horse stalled out and she shook the reins to get him going again. "Watch it! You're confusing Gerald!"

"Gerald! You named your horse Gerald!? That's horrible in so many ways I can't even begin to tell you how. Where's your imagination?"

"I hate to break it to you but naming an animal for what it does isn't very imaginative either. I suppose if it was left to you, he would've been named something like Ser-Gallops-a-Lot or Ser-Grazes-in-a-Field-a-Lot."

"Or Ser-Shits-A-Lot," he grumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing. I guess you've got me there. Give yourself a pat on the back miss smarty-pants. Now, what was I saying? Oh right, settle down!? That would be a sad day for every woman in Thedas, especially for the little wifey."

"Yes, make light of it. However, I think it would be good for you."

Anders chuckled bitterly on the inside, if his life in the Circle had ever taught him anything it was that caring too deeply for not just _someone_, but for _anything _other than himself always led to his favorite toy being taken away sooner or later. He vividly recalled the last time he'd opened himself up, to Mr. Wiggums, the only living creature he saw for lengthy periods of time during his stay in solitary, and how when a Templar caught him feeding and talking to the cat, he'd snapped the animal's neck right in front of him and left it to rot mere feet from his cell.

He shivered as he imagined the same happening to Pounce and felt much better about leaving him behind.

Mellie didn't know this story of course, if she did, then maybe she would understand how far he'd come just by allowing himself to own a pet. Maybe he would tell her one day, but there were some things he knew he'd never tell her. She'd feel guilty if she knew about the backlash that occurred in the Circle after her inscription, that mages were interrogated and harassed endlessly as a direct result of the actions she took to help Jowan and Lily. They were one more case in point that a mage couldn't afford to fall in love, it always ended in disaster.

"As clichéd as it definitely sounds, love will only chew you up and spit you out."

"I used to think the same thing until I met someone that showed me how wrong I was."

"Even if I were to find someone who could hold my interest for more than a night, she would no doubt run screaming in the other direction."

"You're being too hard on yourself."

"Am I? How does—Hello there sweetheart, I'm a tainted mage-Warden with a shortened life span and the inability to give you children or a normal life, will you marry me? –sound to you?"

She shrugged. "It worked for me."

"That doesn't count. He's a Warden too…and besides, he's not really your husband."

"How dare you! We don't need anyone's approval or affirmation under Chantry law, in our hearts we are husband and wife and that's what truly matters."

"Well if that isn't the sweetest thing I've ever heard. So what you're saying is, I need to find a woman who is as unlucky as myself to even things up."

"Why do I try to give you advice? You'd think I'd have learned by now."

"No, no. Bear with me, I think I have the perfect solution. We need to conscript more women! No wait, that hasn't worked out too well so far, one is technically dead and the other is crazy...Okay, from now on, I choose the women."

"I'm almost afraid to ask if you're serious."

"Of course I am! You wanted to help right? Then help me build a harem the likes of which no other man has dared to dream of having!"

Anders's laughter died on his lips as she went abruptly quiet and sped up Gerald's pace.

"What's wrong? I was only kidding, sort of."

"It's nothing."

"Ooh, am I detecting a smidgen of jealousy? You'd be welcome to join in anytime that-"

"No. Could we not talk about this, please?"

She gave him _the Commander tone_, and as baffled as he was, because he knew she wasn't really jealous over him, he dropped the subject all the same.

"What do you want to talk about then? I know! We can hypothesize about how great everything would be if you really _were_ Queen. Everyone from the lowliest Templar to the Divine would shit themselves simultaneously."

He managed to get a light chuckle out of her, but when she spoke her voice remained grim. "I'd be a fool to think that there aren't many who oppose our relationship as is-"

"Is that why we're entering the city in secret? What's really going on? You never tell me anything important."

"You never listen when I do."

"Well I'm listening now, I've got nothing else to do but listen."

"It's…complicated. Let's just say that Bann Esmerelle certainly wasn't the only-"

"Ooh! Did you see that? There was a very colorful bird that flew out from that tree over there."

"Forget it."

"Aw, don't be that way...we might see another one."

She sighed.

"I'm kidding! Come now, tell me who's trying to kill you this time."

"The list for the people who _aren't_ might be shorter. But you have other things to worry about, you're spending one night in the palace, that's it, then I'm sending you off with a company of the guard to the Tower."

"You mean I get to hobnob with the nobles, eat fancy cheeses and drink terribly expensive imported wine? Do I get a ridiculously large bed with silk sheets covered in rose petals? How about my own servant for the day to follow me around, taking note of my every thought and seeing to my every whim?"

"I don't know about the rest, but I'd say the cheese is a safe bet. We're nearing the gate, pull up your hood."

He obeyed, taking the last bite of the apple and tossing the core. "Seriously, it's not too much to ask before you send me into the Void itself, from which I may never return."

"I'm sure you could find plenty of nobles to hobnob around with in the Void." If she were in a better mood she might have giggled, but he could tell she was still clearly pleased with herself, and he shook his head because he'd wanted her to reassure him again that everything would be fine, that he would in fact, return.

"We need to discuss your timing for jokes..." He paused long enough for her to expect some long-winded and brilliant retort and then added flatly, "It's bad."

* * *

Hawke 4 months ago

Dripping wet and effectively sapped of all mana, Riley was forced into a chair in Irving's office directly across from the man himself. He stroked his beard and cleared his throat several times, regarding her with obvious disappointment in his tired eyes; to his credit, he _had_ been dragged out of bed rather abruptly by a Templar to deal with the situation and in his old age it was more than a simple annoyance.

Shivering slightly in her seat, she stared back, waiting for the same speech he always gave her: about the Circle being her home now, and the risks she was taking for defying the rules, and how it was her duty to make a good example out of herself to the Templars for mages as a whole, and how the trust that would be gained by doing so would prove more beneficial to her in the long run.

She used to argue him point by point for every statement he made, but soon learned that it was useless. Irving was much too comfortably set in his ways after a lifetime of residing in the Circle, and responded to her _outlandish_ ideas with a dismissive and condescending ease that she found infuriating. He was a lost cause leading a host of other lost causes into complacency, so many were like sheep, mindlessly herding from one classroom to the next, and shuffling off to their carefully scheduled routines without a thought for freedom. Not every mage was like this, but enough for her to find it disturbing and add to her restlessness as the days droned by.

She quickly found out every reaction to her brazen words, either punishment from the Templars or deaf ears from the mages; too many were brainwashed into believing their magic was a curse, and those who weren't, were too afraid to give voice to their opinions. She tried not to care about the other mages at first, but being who she was-an apostate who grew up free with family-allowed her to see everything that was wrong with perfect clarity whereas the others were hopelessly blind. Slowly she began to realize that change was something she would never be able to provoke inside these walls, so she came back to her original plan: to escape by any means necessary.

Plated boots clicked in a confident stride across the floor, and still she stared at Irving, who was now leaning his head to rest against his palm and nodding off.

"Leave us."

Hawke rolled her eyes at the sound of the Knight-Commander's voice.

He stepped up to the side of Irving's desk with a pregnant pause, waiting for the two Templars who had so _politely_ escorted her back into the Tower to shut the door behind them.

When the door closed to, he burst out with indignation and pointed at her accusingly but spoke to Irving. "I told you she'd be trouble the last time, and still you insisted on leniency. Now, she has turned the mind of one of my own against us."

"Did he claim as much?" Irving inquired calmly in his slow drawl that never fails to cause Greagoir to grind his teeth.

"He's still unconscious! But I'm sure that when he wakes, his testimony will align with my suspicions." He turned his gaze to her briefly, still pointing. "There is no other explanation than blood magic! She used mind control to get him to unlock the door."

Riley began to snicker and then couldn't hold back her laughter, which had Greagoir glaring a hole through her. "Always the blood magic with you people! Honestly, I find it insulting that you believe a pretty girl like me has no other way to charm a Templar."

"I will not listen to this!" he guffawed at Irving, and snapped his head back to her. "Ser Bran is a devout Andrastian and has been loyal to the Order for many years."

She gathered her hair to the side, wringing out the water as she casually explained, "_Ser_ Bran is a man desperate for affection and I happen to be his type. But come to think of it, I believe he did say- "Oh Maker!" -right before I knocked him out."

"This is...this is..." Greagoir sputtered, face turning red as he fumed.

Irving sighed. "This matter is simple. With any accusation of blood magic there are tests to be performed, which will determine the truth. Once the absence of dark magick is confirmed, we can proceed with punishment accordingly." He looked up at Greagoir and stated clearly, "For _both_ parties involved."

Riley tutted. "Poor Bran, he didn't even get what he was after. At least if he had, then the punishment might be worth it."

"Enough!" Greagoir slammed his fist down onto the desk, becoming more flustered when he noticed that she did not flinch and continued to sit amused.

"Is the table a bloodmage now too? Bad table!" She yawned loudly and stretched, ignoring his confounded blubbering. "So, are we going to start proving my innocence? Because that swim really tired me out...or was it all the smiting? Nah, had to be the swim. Tell your boys to practice, I barely felt it this time."

The Knight-Commander took a step toward her and Irving intervened, having found what he was looking for in the top drawer of his desk. "Your glibness awards you no favor, Miss Hawke."

Greagoir leaned in closely to observe the results for himself as the Enchanter prepared to use the amulet, and Hawke held out her arm, quite aware of its use and having nothing to fear. It was a translucent oval stone that essentially, determined the source of a mage's power when laid against their skin. If one were dealing with demons the amulet turned black, if they received help from a benevolent spirit such as many spirit healers do, then it turned blue, on all other accounts it remained clear.

"Since I'm accused of blood magic more often than a whore in the brothel earns another notch in the bedpost, how about I just wear the damned thing?"

Irving shook his head in quiet distaste of her language and began muttering a lengthy and boring explanation as to why not, in an oblivious way that only an old scholar could achieve.

After several minutes with no reaction from the stone, Greagoir, unable to concede, interrupted the Enchanter's nearly incoherent lecture about rare dwarven rune designs lost to the ages and inquired if it was working properly, to which Irving paused to gather himself and replied, "This test has yet to fail. She is telling the truth."

The Enchanter removed the stone and raised his eyebrows at her. "However this behavior is quite unacceptable," he chided, making his way back around the desk to the comfort of his well-worn chair.

Greagoir sulked at the implications and when he finally looked at Riley she grinned smugly, causing him to grab her arms and haul her up from her seat. "A stint in solitary will do you some good, mage, until we decide your punishment."

"Gently, Greagoir, gently," Irving implored.

Riley was nonplussed as she was ushered to the door in an iron grip, and offered her jailor a fake frown. "Ooh, not the prison inside the _prison_."

He shook her in his grasp as he marched her down the hall. "By the Maker, you will learn respect!" he roared, and finally took a calming breath as they passed two Templars standing guard at their post of the guest's quarters. "I haven't had this much trouble since…since…"

_Since Anders_.

She knew who that name etched into the cell wall belonged to now. How could she not? It was the first thing she learned when they finally allowed her to matriculate with the apprentices after three weeks of mind-numbing solitude, and not because she inquired.

It turned out that the man, Anders, was definitely not dead, and in fact something of a legend in the Circle.

As for what attributed to his fame, it all depended on whom she spoke with.

Some of the older mages appraised him for being a quick study and the most promising young Spirit Healer the Circle had produced in a long while, some Loyalists despised him for wasting his talent by rejecting every law vehemently, while some Libertarians despised him as well, if only because they believed his true talent was railing against the system and he wasted it selfishly instead of channeling his energy into their fraternity.

There were so many tall tales among the younger mages that she didn't know exactly what to believe, but the consensus seemed to be that he could charm his way out of anything, and also _into_ anyone.

However much was true about his devilishly handsome looks, daring late-night and often mid-day rendezvous in almost every conceivable corner of the Tower (according to several who claimed he was the best lover they ever had) or his ability to pull off pranks on the Templars that only a mad fool would attempt, there was one thing for certain: He escaped the Circle seven times.

She might have been impressed, if not for the fact that it meant he was also _captured_ six times…

…But then again, which of the two of them was free and which one was currently being shoved into a cell?

"Home sweet home," she sang out, still refusing to let her mask drop in the presence of Greagoir, or any Templar for that matter.

Yet she knew what she was facing and it filled her with dread, so many uncountable hours to wonder what became of her family, to dream of Bethany in the sunny fields of Lothering, to fight the whispers that crept from the shadows, and to wake each time alone in the dark with the horrible realization of exactly _where_ she was all over again.

This was her third time in solitary. The second was barely two weeks after her apprenticeship, when a routine check of quarters revealed the stolen pieces of Templar armor she'd taken great pains to gather up. It was, admittedly, a copy-cat idea, the difference being that Anders had actually gotten as far as walking right out of the Tower.

It was that second time that rather than cave to despair she had begun to carve her own name beside his, with every intention to make it mean something, because to her, that damned name on the wall was much more than tall tales and a pretty face; it was a symbol of hope.


	4. Conspiracies and Troublemakers Pt2

A/N: Since this chapter is a continuation of the last, Hawke's time is still four months ago and Anders's is still present day. Some readers might find Riley's section of the chapter disturbing since it deals with mature themes, read at your own risk.

* * *

Riley awoke to the sound of a male voice singing low and soft.

In the brief haze between sleep and wakefulness she almost thought herself to be safe at home, and the voice to be her Father's as he prepared breakfast.

The nostalgic dream was replaced with a heartbreaking emptiness when she sobered enough to feel the cold stone floor of her cell pressed against her cheek, and in that instant she longed for the Fade and wished to return to the blissful ignorance of her slumber.

As near as she could tell it had been two whole days, but she was never sure because the days and nights bled together into one unending nightmare and she often slept on and off to escape it. The past four months had been an even longer one, and it was much harder to escape. Each time she woke, whether in her cell or in her cot in the apprentice quarters, it was like returning to her own personal hell, a place which still felt as though she were suspended in a vacuum and waiting, always waiting, for her real life to continue.

She would never get "used" to it, as Templar and mage alike had suggested in their own way. She would always wake with a sense of dread, but this time, it was with alarm as she realized the voice was still happily humming out its song, one she'd come to recognize in her time here as a verse of the Chant.

She sat up and turned, scanning the room until her eyes fell on the owner of the voice sitting in a chair placed a few feet away from the corner of her cell.

It was Bran.

He stopped singing and slowly smiled at her when she looked at him. He was wearing a simple tunic and breeches instead of his armor, but his presence was imposing all the same. It unnerved her especially to not know how long he'd been there, watching her sleep.

"How sweet of you to come all the way down here just to sing me a lullaby, but you've sadly misunderstood the concept, I was already sleeping like a baby."

He laughed, the sound a low and menacing echo in the room that made her skin crawl, but his eyes were glinting with a secret mirth that made her even more wary, and she rose to her feet.

"I'm just passing the time."

Until what? She wondered. If he was going to attack her and get revenge then why wait? It filled her with more dread, but she showed none of her anxiety.

"I could knock you out again. It's very effective for passing the time without all of that pesky boredom."

He shot her a look of contempt which turned into a tight smile to hide his embarrassment, and got up from his chair.

"Oh, you needn't worry about me." He stepped up to her cell and curled his hands around the bars. "I have a feeling things are about to get very lively."

"So do I," she said, all humor gone from her expression as she met his eyes with a deadly stare and took two full steps closer to him.

"You see, there's something you've failed to learn in life, which is understandable given your heathen upbringing-"

"By all means, please enlighten me."

He tightened his grip on the bars and pressed his face closer. "Never tease a man with what you don't intend to give, he might just end up taking it."

She tilted her head at him for a moment as if in thought. "I have heard that one actually, but you'll have to excuse my heathen ways." She smiled then, dark and dangerous. "My version is a cautionary tale about what happens to a man when he tries."

They tensely held one another's gaze until the sound of someone unlocking the hallway door made them both look towards it. This struck fear into her heart, but she did not shake, instead she felt her adrenaline rushing and pooling into a coil wounding about tighter by the second, like a snake ready to strike.

She couldn't use magic inside this cell, but they had another thing coming if they thought her to be weak otherwise. Her whole life had meant growing up tough, from tomboying with Carver to her duties around the farm, from always being on the run and everything in between that she and her family had done to survive. It all left her with a physique that was surprisingly strong for a mage, much more than what these poor sods in the Circle had, and much more than what any Templar might size her up for.

She didn't know who she was expecting to see come through that door, but it took her a moment to recognize the man whom she hadn't seen in months, Ser Connell.

He too was without armor, but still walked with that cocky gait she'd had the misfortune of following behind during her whole trek to the Circle.

He spun the key-ring to her cell around his finger, and whistled like he was taking a merry stroll as he approached. Riley stood her ground, despite her instincts telling her to back away when he stopped in front of her cell door.

"Bran here tells me you've been a very bad girl, embarrassing him like that. I can relate."

"That's me, making everyone feel worse about themselves is a hobby I take seriously," she said, almost flippantly, but a small note of her fear came through and she knew Connell had heard it when he smiled.

"Spirited," he replied with a measure of excitement, and let his eyes roam over her body with a lustful gaze, gone was the outward show of indifference. "I like spirited, but as you can imagine, it's very hard to come by around here."

Bran laughed, which reminded her that he was still even there, as she was fixated by Connell and chilled to the bone to discover his hidden nature. She tried to tell herself that he was just another Templar, but seeing him brought back every helpless feeling she'd had along the road, and like then, no help would come to get her out of _this_ situation either.

In lieu of shooting her mouth off, she quickly tried to come up with a plan, any plan, and started to doubt herself. She hadn't been strong enough then, and now the odds were stacked against her once more.

"Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?" Connell asked.

Riley had all of a second to look from him to Bran before she felt the familiar drain of her mana.

"No!" She wasn't sure if the word had ever left her mouth, a sickening blur of thoughts passed through her; Stay on your feet! How many have they done this to? Open your eyes. Open your eyes!

She grabbed hold of the bars with both hands as her body began to sag, and the terror of knowing it would be over before she even had the chance to fight back fueled her resistance to the nausea and pain. She opened her eyes and looked up at Bran, who was still directly in front of her, and then her drugged attention fell to her immediate right, where Connell was turning the key in the lock.

The sound was dull and seemed far away, but she focused on it. Already she begun to recover, and compared with the first few times she was ever smited, this was nothing. She had not been merely posturing to Greagoir when she told him she barely felt it anymore, it was a slight exaggeration but she had indeed worked up a higher tolerance.

Her adrenaline was pumping harder than ever, and her doubt fled while she clung to the bars and pretended to be worse off than she was. She waited for the right moment. As soon as the door to her cell swung open she reached up and grabbed either side of Bran's head with both hands and yanked him down face-first into the bars, his forehead smashed against them with a clang and he crumpled to an unconscious heap on the floor.

Connell's shout of surprise was cut off as she wasted no time in turning and barreling her shoulder into his midsection with a full weighted tackle that sent them both flying to the floor. They slid together a short distance away from the cell, and when the momentum brought them to a halt she rose up and rained punches down on his face.

The element of surprise quickly wore off however, and he began to block her attacks. He eventually caught both of her forearms in a bruising grip and threw her off of him and to the side. The air was knocked out of her as her back hit the wall opposite her cell, and she winced from the pain with a silent cry.

Connell was getting up, and her reflexes wanted to use a spell to slow him down but there was nothing to reach for and she knew it. Nothing left inside but the part of her that was too stubborn to ever admit defeat, and too angry to let pain get in the way of defending herself.

She somehow managed to scramble to her feet using the wall at her back for support, and in a flash he was there and throwing a punch at her. She ducked and threw her own that caught him square in the middle of his stomach.

The combined pain in his gut and in his hand from hitting the stone wall instead of her made him double over, and she swiftly brought her knee up to connect hard with his face.

He fell over to the floor and rolled away from her, and she panicked and sprinted for the door when she saw it hadn't been enough to knock him out.

It was a stupid move, the door was locked, of course it was locked, and she turned back to look at the keys still dangling from her cell door. She ran for them, and Connell tripped her when she tried to skirt around him. She barely braced her fall and immediately started to crawl forward, but then he was on her.

He turned her over, pinned her arms down with his knees and backhanded her across the face.

Her world spun, and when she was able to open her eyes again she saw him working on the ties to his trousers.

This was not happening! Not to her! She strained her muscles to get free with every ounce of strength she had, but he proved to be stronger.

He laughed at her struggle and paused to wipe his bloody nose on his sleeve. "I'm going to enjoy this so much more now. Thanks for making it interesting."

"You sick fuck!"

He backhanded her again, grabbed her jaw, and forced her to look at him as he leaned down closer. "Every time I tugged on that rope and heard you choke I imagined you choking on my cock instead."

She spat a mixture of saliva and blood in his face and screamed with rage while fighting again to get free.

He quickly wiped his face and wrapped his hands around her neck, sneering down at her with a murderous intent blazing in his eyes as he began to squeeze. She fought for her breath, she fought against passing out, and she reached again for the smallest reserve of mana but found none, there was only the roar in her ears as he pressed down on her harder.

Something made him stop and turn his head to look behind him, and though he had released her throat she could only gasp and pull in the sweet, blessed air.

Before she could begin wondering what had saved her life, Connell was hauled off of her and tossed onto his back.

A sword came down with the tip resting at his throat and she looked up to see none other than Cullen.

If Riley had bothered to learn anything about him other than the insanity she witnessed upon her arrival at the Circle, then she would have still been surprised. She couldn't have known it, but Cullen was no longer the timid subordinate who turned a blind eye. He was a changed man after everything he had endured and believed his faith to be the only thing that had brought him through it, so now he not only strictly followed every law, but enforced them as well.

"Are you all right, Miss…Hawke, I believe it is?"

Riley just nodded, her throat too sore to speak, and she scooted away from all of them when she heard Bran begin to stir behind her.

Her eyes flicked to Connell when he spoke up. "You don't understand, Cullen. This…mage attacked Ser Bran and I-"

Cullen pressed his sword a little harder against Connell's throat. "I might be inclined to believe you, had I not heard what you said right before I came in."

Riley felt total relief flood through her, as she had been certain that no one would have believed her.

Greagoir came marching in then, with two other Templars trailing him, and he paused to take in the situation. He took one look at Riley and bowed his head before letting his assessment be known.

"Take her to the infirmary, and send someone down here to clean up."

One of the Templars at his back walked over to help her up, and she refused his hand and stood up on her own. She didn't spare another glance to Connell or Bran, and strode for the hallway door.

Greagoir turned to her when she went to walk by him. "Let this be a lesson towards your promiscuity."

Outraged, she opened her mouth to speak and couldn't, so she settled for glaring at him until her escort moved her along.

Even with healing, it was several days before Riley got her voice back, and when she did, she made sure that everyone knew her side of the story. She went around and spoke to the heads of different fraternities, some of whom helped her draw up an official complaint that she pestered Irving with endlessly, and she tried to get others who were rumored to have been abused to come forward, but they stuck their heads in the sand.

Her efforts amounted to mostly nothing, except getting Connell and Bran sent away, not to Aeonar as she had proposed, but to serve at posts in separate Chantries. Cullen had been promoted to Connell's rank, and just like that, Greagoir considered the matter to be dealt with. Riley didn't however, and considered it to mean she would have two places worth paying a visit to when she was free.

One week after her attack, the Circle was buzzing with excitement again. The news had reached them that the Blight was over and the Archdemon had been defeated by one of their own.

Riley sat surrounded by people in the mess hall, and yet she ate her meal alone. It seemed that being branded a troublemaker prompted others to avoid her, especially the other apprentices, whom were too afraid to be reputed by association.

She listened in on some of the chatter around her; about bastard Kings, and mages due to return from the battle, and with some pride of her kinship, about the Hero of Ferelden. At first, some had prodded her with questions about her relation but Riley had more questions than they did, and so everyone lost interest when word got around that she had never actually met her cousin. Or second cousin, as people did well to remind her, but it hardly mattered. The person who had saved everyone's asses and stood against impossible odds and won came from her line, from her blood, and knowing this gave her a measure of comfort and strength to draw from.

"Deep thoughts?"

She looked up from her food to see Karl, and he smiled at her as he set his tray down and settled in across from her.

"Deep and meaningful," she replied drily.

"How's the uh..." He gestured about his own throat. "Able to eat okay now?"

She nodded and took a bite of whatever mystery meat was on the menu today to prove it. "That was some top-notch healing."

"So I've been told. Frequently, I might add, and most recently other than you by Irving himself. Which is something I wanted to speak with you about."

"With me? But I'm no spirit healer. I'm more of a paper-cuts and small bruises healer, and even then there's no guarantee."

He chuckled. "You continue to remind me of him. I'm almost certain he used those exact same words to describe his talent when I first began training him. But I digress, you may be eager to know that I am being transferred to the Circle in Kirkwall." He raised both brows pointedly.

Riley sat up straight with full attention. "When?"

"Two days from now, it seems they are in rather short supply of healers." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "If you have any letters you wish to write, I will do my best to see them delivered."

Tears welled up in her eyes and she wiped them away. "Thank you," she whispered. It was a long shot, for there was no way of knowing if they had made the voyage to Kirkwall, but if they had, then she could at least let them know that she was all right, even if she herself would have to continue wondering.

"You're most welcome, dear. I've grown very fond of you in such a short time." He sighed. "I know you do not feel as I do about this place, but when you've lived here all your life it is impossible to not call it home. I admit I have some trepidation about leaving it, however I am also quite eager to see how they do things in the Free Marches."

"As am I, you wouldn't happen to have a very large pack I could fit in would you?" They both laughed and she continued more seriously. "You'll be missed, and I can't ever thank you enough for taking this risk for me."

He waved his hand. "Please, it is no trouble."

* * *

Denerim had seen better days, but it had also seen much worse. Now, it was bustling with those dedicated to seeing its resurrection, excepting many nobles of course, they preferred to spend their gold to avoid literally getting their hands dirty. But there were some who took pride in working with their hands, and if one weren't already aware of their identity then they would never be recognized as they toiled in lesser garb alongside the commoners.

Alistair himself had had a profound effect on his people, for if they assumed their King thought too highly of himself to push a wheelbarrow full of rubble or grab a hammer, they were sorely mistaken. He helped to construct several new apartments to house the elves right among the humans, for the alienage had been so badly destroyed by fire that it was inhabitable. This decision won favor with many and lost as much with others even though it was a temporary solution while the alienage was being rebuilt.

It was all a strange sight to behold, dwarves had been contracted to start reconstructing the city's defensive walls, and everyone worked together in a mix of race and class in different areas, some groups were busy clearing debris, others were rebuilding homes, and some were working to repair bridges and roads.

The marketplace was among the first to thrive again to keep trade flowing, and was so polished that it was impossible to tell it had ever laid in ruin. Cobblestone replaced the old muddy stomping ground, stores and homes alike seemed to shine in the sunlight, an effect made from the new oiled wood and white-washed stone they were built from, and many posts bore the royal-blue banner of the new King.

Mellie was stunned to see how much had been accomplished since she was last here, and was too preoccupied to hear Anders's complaints until he shook her.

"Hello? I thought you said we were staying in the palace."

"We are. _A_ palace, anyway, not the royal one."

"And why not?"

"Because it's still under repair, and Alistair is staying in Eamon's estate for now."

"How many more lies do you plan on feeding me? Am I even really going to the Circle, or was that a play on my sympathy for you to get me here?"

"What are you on about now?"

"Are you selling me into slavery? No, because that would mean giving up your slave. You're making me be the King's jester aren't you? He's probably sitting there gleefully rubbing his hands together while Trollop the Handmaiden sews up my costume."

"I never thought I'd say this again, but you have some odd ideas about the King."

She brought Gerald to a halt inside the courtyard of the servant's quarters and hopped down. Anders made a much less graceful dismount while she held the reins for him and softly rapped against the door to the kitchens.

She still hadn't explained to him why they had to be so secretive, but that was the least of his worries right now as he stretched and bent over with his hands on his knees. "Andraste's nethers! I wish I had them right now. I can't feel my ass or my..." Anders looked up and saw a random elven lady staring at him rather than Mellie, and he quickly smiled at her. The smell of freshly baked bread and other delicious things was wafting out from where she stood with the door open. "M-my lady," he corrected himself and rose up straight. "We are here to humbly beg for the tiniest morsel of whatever it is you're cooking in there. I'm willing to- ow."

Mellie slapped him on the arm and didn't bother turning her head towards him for a disapproving glare, and he didn't need to see it, she also made a clucking noise with her tongue when she was upset or annoyed, which fairly warned him so he could then decide whether or not to push his luck at any given moment.

"Erlina, it's me," she said, and lifted her cowl slightly.

"Mistress Amell! But…we weren't expecting you until tomorrow morning. Surely you wish to be properly received, I'll have someone-"

She threw her hand up and urged Erlina to speak quietly by doing so herself. "I don't want anyone to know I'm here yet." At the elf's look of confusion she continued. "I want to surprise Alistair. Do you know where he is right now?"

Erlina smiled then. "Of course. He is in the second floor study with his guest. We were just preparing a late lunch for them." She glanced at Anders and back at Mellie. "Should I add two more?"

"Maker, yes!" Anders exclaimed, and dodged Mellie's hand this time.

"Could you send ours to my usual guest room instead, and get someone to take my horse around to the stables?"

Erlina took the reins, and Anders started to follow Mellie inside when she stopped and blocked his path.

"Forgetting something, Anders?"

He rolled his eyes and turned back to get their bags, all of their bags, while grumbling inwardly about big-headed heroes and their abuse of command. "You're lucky I find you too pretty to deny you anything."

It was true, too. Their dynamic had not much changed since their Circle days really, ever since he'd spotted her in the library and she'd asked him to retrieve a book from one of the higher shelves out of her reach, he'd been smitten. Doomed would be more accurate. She would forever see him as that lovesick boy who'd took to following her around like a puppy and carried her books to class in a fumbling attempt to flirt.

He was so young and foolish then, if they had met today, then he would dare say that he would have her wrapped around his finger in no time. Instead, he now followed her into every nightmarish hole in the ground or spooky marsh because he owed her. He began to think that this behavior was just as foolish, and that this ridiculous favor—of which he never should have agreed to, life owed or not—should place him well past a debt repaid, it might even be enough leverage to demand a little more respect once it was all over.

Anders hefted his burden onto his shoulders and turned to see she'd already moved on from the doorway. Typical.

The scullery was warm and inviting and instantly cut through the chill in his bones in a way the weak autumn sun had failed to do. Two maids stood opposite each other chopping and chatting over a long table that was loaded down with food. It held more sandwiches than could possibly be needed to feed King, guest and guard.

His mouth watered and his stomach growled, and he thought about swiping one but for the eyes on him. "You lovely ladies look terribly busy, there's bound to be a couple of jealous husbands somewhere."

Both of the women spared him a longer, more appraising glance, and he let his smile and big, brown eyes do the rest.

The elder cook, a robust and cheerful looking woman by the ruddiness of her cheeks, spoke to her companion more than to him and didn't stop her knife-work. "Whew, it's been a long time since I've heard words like that."

"That's a shame," he said, and both women chuckled harder.

She paused and pointed with her knife. "Darling, you better go on and get you one of them sandwiches, I've half a mind to take you into the store room."

He smiled wider, picked one up, and was about to take his first bite when he heard her repeat him. "The Maker knows you're too pretty to deny anything."

They both laughed heartily, and Anders beat a hasty retreat through the door to the main hall as the chuckling and chopping continued.

He bumped into Mellie, who had waited after all like a cowled statue right around the corner.

"I take it you're done charming old women out of sandwiches?"

"If you'd feed me proper, I wouldn't have to," he mumbled while chewing, and hoped she wouldn't comment on his rosy cheeks.

"At least your mouth will be otherwise occupied." She took one annoyed and amused glance up at him, and said quite unnecessarily, "Follow me, and be quiet."

"How are you not hungry right now?" He shoved the sandwich into her face and waved it around.

Apparently it was necessary, she sighed, smacked his hand away and shushed him.

"Would you stop hitting me?"

"Would you shut up?"

"Would you ever not answer a question with a question? Er…something."

"No, I am not hungry. No, I will not because I am this close to hitting you again. And yes, I just did, thrice over."

"Thrice? No one says thrice anymore. How's that sandwich, Anders?" He snorted and puffed himself up like a snobby nobleman. "Well, my good Ser, might I say it is thrice as good as that bowl of slop I had this morning." He laughed. "See? It sounds weird and you're weird for using it."

"Yes, of the two of us, I am definitely the weird one."

"I'm glad you agree." He extended his arm out for her and pretended to be all upper-classy again. "Now, shall we go see his majesty of the majestically funny hair?"

"Are you going to be quiet?"

"You just did it again!"

She frowned, more at herself than at him, then turned and stalked off. He followed her across the main hall and up the steps to the second floor, packs jostling and lips smacking all the while, and she was not much better with the clucking of her tongue.

Once at the top of the steps, she dropped to her knees and peeked around the corner. He had long given up trying to decipher any of her eccentricities, and leaned over her to peek around as well. There was a guard, looking rather bored as he stood by the study door.

"I knew it," she whispered dejectedly, and dusted her knees off as she stood up and turned to him. "Okay, I'll cast a sleep spell and you run over and catch him before he hits the ground."

"What!?" he whispered back harshly, and she paid him no mind and began taking the packs off of his shoulders and quietly setting them down against the wall.

"Just do it! As quietly as you can. Here, I'll hold your sandwich." She tried to take it from him and he held it up out of her reach, which made her fume but he didn't care as he was tired of all the lack of explanations.

"What. Is. Going. On?"

"Have I ever asked you to do anything without a good reason?"

"All the time. Like right now."

She glared at him for a few seconds, then tickled his ribs and took full advantage of the moment he doubled over by slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter and grabbing the sandwich away from him with the other.

"Very mature," he whispered when she released him.

She raised a brow as a silent comment on his own immaturity, set the sandwich on top of their packs and took another quick peek around the corner.

He was about to pull her back to face him when she threw her hand out to the side to signal a countdown…3…2…1…and Anders was running.

Why in Andraste's soiled knickers was he running? He had about enough time to question this and only this before the man and all of his heavy armor was slumping forward into his arms. The weight staggered him backwards slightly and he regained his footing and strained to look back over his shoulder. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He looked at her wildly and beckoned her to hurry with several jerks to his head as she tip-toed over.

She pointed to the man's feet, and Anders shuffled around with the dead-weight until he could slip his forearms under the man's armpits from behind. The guard's helmeted head lolled back and hit him in the jaw when she picked up his feet and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. She gestured with a nod to a room further down the hall and he started moving backwards.

This was insane! She was insane! And she was smiling like she was insane!

They passed over the threshold into the room and both heard a wet plop that made them look toward the sound. Standing near the bed was another maid who'd been cleaning, and had dropped her brush to stare horrified at the intrusion.

No one moved.

Until the woman took a breath clearly in preparation to make a call for help. Mellie dropped the guard's feet to cast another sleep spell, and the sudden shift of weight knocked Anders backwards to the floor. The maid fell over too, quite luckily onto the bed.

Anders looked up at Mellie and huffed out a breath as he scrambled to get his legs free from under the sleeping pile of armor, and she swiftly turned and shut the door.

He stood up, his face red with exertion and his eyes wide in disbelief. "You're stark raving mad!"

"She was going to yell!"

"Yeah, well, gee I wonder why?! It's not every day you see two cloaked figures carrying a body into a room!"

She waved her arms in a fit meant to tell him to be quiet. "Calm down!"

He went back to a forced whisper. "I am calm! And I'm calmly telling you that you've taken your "surprise"," he air-quoted, "to disturbing levels!"

"So what if I have?" She actually choked back a sob, and Anders's brow furrowed with concern.

His Mellie did not cry, ever.

He stared at her, completely unsure of everything he ever thought he knew as he watched her fight against a breakdown.

"What's wrong?" he asked tentatively, quietly, the words sounding as grave as he felt.

But she had already hardened her expression, returning to the Mellie he'd always known in the blink of an eye.

"Will you get our things and take them to the second room on the left in the other hall?"

He nodded slowly, transfixed by how, now that he was paying closer attention, she seemed to have an aura of vulnerability to her every movement.

"And just stay there and wait for me, okay?" she implored, her voice was the same, steady and controlled, but her icy blue eyes were nearly clouded to grey.

He didn't want her to treat him like a child right now, and he didn't want her to hide behind the mask of Commander. He wanted her to lean on him, but as he took a step towards her she opened the door and stood aside, her face as stony and resolute with self-reliance as ever.

He was bombarded by about a million thoughts and questions, but knew it was pointless to utter another word. Fine. If she didn't want him to be there for her in any other way then he would play lap-dog and help by fetching their things.

She followed him out and closed the door behind her, and he didn't wait around for her, his steps showed his petulant mood all the way to their packs and he wondered if she even noticed or cared. He scooped everything up, and was about to go on his way when he saw her hesitating in front of the study door, no, not hesitating, eavesdropping, he realized when she crouched down.

His curiosity got the better of him despite his "orders", and he set everything back down and walked over to crouch down beside her. She didn't acknowledge his presence in any capacity and remained absolutely still as she listened and stared at the wall. The door was open by about a foot, which made it easy when he started listening to the voices inside along with her.

There was laughter, from both a man and a woman.

"...and so then she took the keys and we found quite a strange array of prisoners. An elf, a templar, and none other than the late Arl Urien's son, Vaughan."

"You know I heard the rumors when he was prosecuted!" the woman replied. "I never liked him, at every landsmeet he would go out of his way to put his slimy hands on me. I'll never forget when Bann Alfstanna slapped him for getting too familiar with her. Please tell me you found him in a traumatized and undignified state."

"He was definitely harried by his ordeal, and very angry. But leave it to Renna to make him furious. The elf we rescued was the one who told us about his barbarism, and she tricked Vaughan into giving us over twenty sovereign to be let out. Of course, she but smiled and left him there to rot. We could still hear him yelling at us as we made our way back up the stairs!"

"Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful. I can't believe I'm about to meet the Hero of Ferelden herself."

"Please don't call her that to her face. She'll tear you a new one about group effort and unsung heroes. Oh, I didn't tell you the best part, she later turned around and handed out every last coin we stole from him to random elves in the alienage."

"Talk about poetic justice!"

There was more laughter, and then it died and nothing was said for a long moment.

"...Alistair, I know that this is a very delicate situation, and I intend to treat it as such to the best of my ability."

Anders had been studying Mellie's face, it went from frozen to smiling, and now she tensed up and barely breathed.

"It is appreciated. Eamon said you were the best person for the job, um, I mean, that is...for the uh, situation, but I would prefer to wait and discuss details when she arrives."

Suddenly everything was as clear as muddy water to Anders, meaning he didn't understand all of what was going on but enough to rationalize all of Mellie's behavior over the last few days. She finally looked at him, and it pained him to see how much she loved Alistair and how much she was hurting right now written all over her face. Going to the Circle in her stead and suffering through all of the horrors waiting for him there now seemed the least that he could do for her.

He reached out a hand to console her and she flinched away, causing his balance to be upset, and his hand continued forward to catch himself against the door. It pushed open further, very noticeably, if the halt of conversation inside was any indication. She stared at him in wide-eyed panic and Anders grimaced and mouthed that he was sorry.

"Who's there?" came Alistair's voice. "Arthur?"

Anders shook his head. No, Arthur was currently passed out on the floor of a guest room. He wondered how Mellie would explain that one without completely embarrassing herself. She would probably blame it on him somehow. This reasoning didn't spring out of nowhere either, she had once subtly directed Velanna into thinking he had been the one who had ruined several pages of her grimoire. 'But she already hates you.' Mellie had said when he'd confronted her about it. Now what would it be? 'But Alistair doesn't know you that well, maybe you like to cast random hexes on people wherever you go.'

He was still musing when she jerked him up to stand with her, just in time, as Alistair opened the door the rest of the way.

"Renna! What are you-you're here!"

"Here is me," she said, and shrugged.

Anders was sure he'd never seen two people be so obviously awkward towards one another. The tension couldn't be cut with a knife, it could be bludgeoned with a mace. He watched them stare at each other without saying anything more for an uncomfortable amount of time, Mellie very stiff and unmoving in a way that reminded him of her poise before going into battle, and Alistair blushing so hard that Anders thought his head would explode at any moment.

"I'm here too," he said unhelpfully, and they both looked at him.

"Yes, I can see that," Alistair said, and rocked back and forth onto his heels as he looked at Mellie again. "So, it's good that we're all here in the sense of being here." He lowered his voice and nodded toward Anders. "Except what is he doing _here_ here?"

Anders slapped a hand onto Alistair's shoulder. "Say, has anyone ever told you that you've got great hair?"

Alistair appeared to think hard about it. "No, actually."

"Anders!"

"What Mellie? I was just complimenting the man." He winked. "And look, you two are actually talking now with words and everything, granted not much to each other but-"

"Who is Mellie?" Alistair looked back and forth between them, confused, and maybe even a little jealous.

Anders just smirked at him and Mellie sighed heavily.

"Did you send the letter?" she asked Alistair.

"What letter?" Anders interrupted.

"The letter I asked him to send to the Circle about you, so you might want to try being a little nicer since you're now under the protection of both the Wardens and the King."

"Yes," Alistair finally answered her, and he must have realized that Anders wasn't complimenting him after all because he brought a hand up to fuss with his hair.

Mellie crossed her arms. "Well, shall we get this over with?"

Alistair looked at Anders again and knitted his brow. "Is he coming?"

"Yes he is." She grabbed Anders by the arm and ushered him past Alistair and into the room. "He can be an impartial witness to our little arrangement and point out how stupid it is."

Anders had the sneaking suspicion that she actually wanted him there because she had picked up on Alistair's jealousy and wanted to continue making him more uncomfortable than what he already was. He had no problem with this. And he had even less of no problem when he spotted the woman lounging in a chair by the fireplace. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with long blonde hair and jade green eyes that pierced right through him. He had heard enough to know she was a noble but she wasn't dressed like one, instead she wore a leather skirt of armor and had a dagger strapped to each thigh. Each lovely thigh.

Mellie and Alistair were still standing in the doorway behind him talking quietly and somewhat heatedly by the sound of things, so he left them to it and walked further inside.

"It's impolite to stare," she said.

He watched her uncross her legs and when she stood he took a slight bow. "I apologize, my dear lady, I was simply trying to remember my name so that I might introduce myself properly."

She grinned and looked him over as she came closer, and he could see that it had worked. It usually did.

"I wasn't aware that an extra guest would be attending." Her eyes said that she didn't mind, and she lifted her hand out to him.

Before he could do anything more however, Mellie all but shoved him aside and stood in his place.

Alistair came up to stand closely to the side of and between the two women, still very much red-faced. "Elissa Cousland, please meet Renna Amell."

"Mistress Amell." She bowed her head in respect. "It is an honor."

"Can we please skip the pleasantries and get right to the part where you explain exactly why you have chosen to accept Eamon's proposal?" She crossed her arms again. "Besides the obvious that is."

Alistair grimaced and chopped a hand through the air between them. "All right, why don't we all just take a few small steps back and start over?"

"No, it's fine Alistair," Elissa said without looking away from Mellie, though she did not appear to be angry.

"Well, isn't this nice? I didn't realize you two were already comfortable enough to address one another so informally. Not to mention that you're not even Queen yet and already telling him what to do."

Elissa sighed. "Well then, Your Majesty and..." She looked at Anders.

"That's Anders," Mellie supplied.

"Would you gentlemen mind giving us a moment alone?"

"I don't think-" Alistair shut up and shrank back from a single glance by Mellie.

"And please close the door on your way out," she added in agreement with Elissa.

Both men looked at each other, Alistair with a mixed expression of anxiety and pleading, but Anders just shrugged and headed for the door. He felt bad for Mellie, and a little sorry for Alistair since it was clear the man was out of his element, but there was no way he was getting in the middle of _that_.

Alistair followed and audibly closed the door behind him before opening it a little to listen in.

Anders leaned on his shoulder against the wall. "I'm having the strangest case of deja-vu."

"You're lucky then, because I'm having a heart-attack," Alistair whispered, and wiped at his brow. "Wait, does that mean you two were listening before? How long were you listening?"

"Uh oh. It sounds like someone has something to hide."

"What? No! I may have been less than honest about my role in a story or two is all-"

Anders laughed. "Trying to impress Miss Cousland?"

"I was not!" Alistair turned to him and scratched at the back of his head. "She's a noble. Which means that anything I tell her makes the rounds to other nobles... and, and I just thought that...nevermind."

"You've really got the 'I'm just a shy and innocent guy with wholesome intentions and a heart of gold' working for you don't you? You can drop the act around me, I've tried that one before, it didn't suit. Congrats to you for making it work though."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right."

"Has she said anything to you? About...all of this?"

"No." Anders waited for the mask to drop, and he planned on telling Mellie all about it, but the thing is, it never did.

"None of this was my idea, you know. If I could officially marry her, Renna that is, I would've done so in a heartbeat the minute I was made King. I don't even really want this! What I want is to live in a world where no one bats an eye if their King marries a mage!"

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Alistair stressed.

Anders finally took pity on him. "She loves you. I don't think anything will change that." He left off the part where he had once actively tried for a while to change that.

Alistair nodded, and managed a small smile, then shifted around. "I can hardly hear what they're saying. I figured there'd be lots and lots of yelling."

"I was secretly hoping for a little more than that." He smirked when Alistair shot him a frown. "By the way, I saw Arthur and a maid go into that room over there, if you know what I mean."

"Your Majesty?"

Alistair jumped and turned around. It was Erlina with their food. "I'm sorry your Majesty. I didn't mean to startle you, should I-"

"You can just give that to me," he said, and took the tray from her. "Thank you."

She tried very hard not to show her bewilderment, and didn't fully succeed at it before she turned to leave. She stopped once more at the top of the steps to glance back at the oddity, and Anders smiled and waved.

Mellie opened the door, and Alistair tried to move back so fast that he stumbled into Anders and nearly dropped the tray. "You can come in now," she said, and seemed to be more calm than Anders had seen her be all day.

They followed her back inside and she went and sat down beside Elissa.

"Finally, I'm famished," Elissa said, and smiled as Alistair approached with food in tow. He set the tray down in front of them and then looked at Anders and raised a brow.

"Have a seat," Mellie said, pleasantly.

Alistair continued to look worried as he did, and all Anders was thinking about was that he'd left his sandwich in the hall.

Elissa dug into her meal as Mellie explained, "We have come to an agreement that I feel works for us. Elissa has convinced me that she only desires political rule and not any kind of romantic involvement. She will marry you. She will have her own room, and she will take whomever she wishes for a lover."

Anders very obviously gazed at Elissa with a cocky smile until she looked at him.

"Not now, Anders," Mellie said, and he cleared his throat and looked away. "Furthermore, I believe the arrangement will do much toward quelling the rumors that I am influencing you and trying to turn Ferelden into another Imperium."

"People don't honestly think that?!" Anders burst. "Who am I kidding? Of course they do. It's fine for a mage to save everyone's asses, but then they'd better crawl off and die as far as anyone's concerned."

"He's right," Elissa said. "What swayed my decision in particular are the nasty things I've heard from certain nobles who want you dead. And I'm fully prepared to disclose with you all the information I can."

Alistair shook his head. "I thought Eamon was exaggerating. I also thought that the Amaranthine conspirators were dealt with."

"Not all. I've sent Sergeant Joanna with a group of Wardens to track them, but I haven't received any news."

"They are not the only ones you need to worry about. Bann Ceorlic is another. While Esmerelle acted out of loyalty to Howe, Ceorlic has made it clear that he detests a mage having any rule over the lands, even one so small as the Arling."

"Then he's a fool, and I'll have him beheaded!"

Mellie's eyes widened. "Alistair!"

Anders pointed a thumb at Alistair beside him. "I agree with his almighty Majesty."

Alistair took a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. "Only four months of this and I'm tired of it already Renna. Things were so much simpler when we could mow down our enemies."

"That's why we need Elissa's help," she said softly.

"And I am more than happy to give it to the people who ended Howe's treacherous little life. I only wish I had been the one to do it."

Mellie squeezed Elissa's hand and looked at her with sympathy.

"There is one last matter," Mellie said quietly, her cheeks blushing. "When, or if... When people start to demand an heir." Alistair's head shot up at her and she paused to chew on her lip.

Elissa continued for her. "I can fake a pregnancy. If we keep things quiet, I can quarantine myself during the late months on the claim of it being difficult. It is not so rare of an occurence to raise suspicion."

Alistair was slack-jawed. "Oh, um that's uh..." He gathered himself. "The taint is still an issue. But other than that...you know how I feel."

Mellie and he had not broken eye contact and she smiled.

Anders had never given thought about the things that Mellie might actually want, and now he pictured her waddling about the Keep with a huge stomach and still barking orders. It made him smile too, she would be a great mother, she already took care of so many people who behaved like children half the time anyway.

If anyone deserved happiness, she did, and he saw that Alistair wasn't some passing fancy to her. In this moment, he fully let go of any lingering hope he had of himself maybe being the man to make her happy one day. It felt a little bittersweet, as she was the closest to love he had ever come.

"I may have thought of a solution to that problem."

"Oh?" Alistair scooted to the edge of his seat.

"I have to find Morrigan."

He paled. "You're not suggesting? She said to never follow her."

"I know, and it's not what you're thinking. She may know something, a spell or a potion, just something that would work around the taint. I'm sure she knows more than what she ever let on, and she may be our best shot."

"Who is Morrigan?" Anders asked.

"How I wish I could ask that," Alistair grumbled.

"She's a witch, or a hedge-mage, and she helped us to survive the Blight." Mellie looked at Alistair while speaking and Anders felt there was more he was missing.

"How do you plan on finding her?"

"I'll start right where we first found her and go from there," Mellie said, resolutely.

"And I'm going with her," Elissa added.

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	5. Rattling the Cage

**Hawke 3 days ago**

Riley slumped down even further into her chair and sighed for what had to be the hundredth time. The almost empty library seemed to take offense to her every movement. _I am the stone that was thrown into the calm pool. And now I'm sinking. A stone's throw. Throwing stones. Sticks and stones. I'm losing my fucking mind. _Her thoughts continued like this as she lazily drummed her fingers against the table and stared across at Finn, whose mouth or eyebrow twitched upwards every few seconds.

"You're doing it again," he said, not looking up from his book.

She paused the habit, but started to crack her knuckles instead. "Sorry. I'm just _so_-

"Bored. Yes, I know. I know because you told me not two minutes ago, and I've now reread this same sentence a dozen times." He let out his own sigh.

"Well excuse me for existing," she said, although her sarcasm lacked its usual bite. "Believe me, I'd rather be doing it anywhere but here."

"Maybe if you hadn't gotten your privileges revoked... _again..._"

"Or maybe I wouldn't be if I wasn't stuck in this Maker-forsaken shit hole to begin with."

"I keep telling you it's not that bad, you'll ad-

"Do not say it. I can't bear to hear that word one more time. I'm going to snap!" She huffed and shuffled around in her seat restlessly. "Or shrivel up and die in here. It's a toss-up for which one happens first, and besides, you only say that because you don't know any better. There's a whole world out there. Doesn't it bother you in the slightest to not know anything about it?"

He finally looked up at her with knitted brows. "I know plenty. Everything I could ever wish to know can be found here." He tapped his finger against the page.

"That is _so_ not the same thing, and the fact that you think it is, is just sad."

"Spare me the lecture today. For your information," he paused to look her over doubtfully, "or rather mine," he said almost snobbishly, "we have the largest and most extensive collection in all of Ferelden, more than I could read in a lifetime."

"You don't know that for sure, though. You believe it is because they tell you it is. What if I told you that I once saw a library in Denerim that's twice as large?"

"Then I would say that I have no reason to be upset, because I've been there and know you to be lying."

Riley genuinely frowned at him for ruining her bit of teasing.

"That's right," he said, "those of us who follow the rules are occasionally granted special passes to go out into that big, whole world you keep going on about. If you ask me, it's overrated."

"How can you say that? If you know what's out there, then how can you be so content in this…cage? Take your trip to Denerim for instance, would you not have rather experienced it all without being monitored?"

He waved a hand as if it was all nonsense. "I can say that because I'd rather read about trade agreements than to stand in the middle of a marketplace and haggle with some foul smelling folk while even fouler things splash up from the street and soil my robes. I ruined my favorite set that way. The embroidery was destroyed and the hem was completely unsalvageable."

"Tragic." She rolled her eyes. "Remind me later to mourn your loss."

"Yes, yes go ahead and laugh-

"Who's laughing?" She pointedly looked around the room and shrugged. "Certainly not me. So tell me, do you honestly believe that your intolerance to these things isn't a direct result of having been forced to live the way you do?"

"I guess we'll never really know. Regardless, I'd like to think that if there were no Templars over my shoulder, I would still be doing exactly this. I'm not the adventurous type. Adventures are dangerous and…messy."

"Trust me, it's more dangerous in here."

"Well, as with anything, if you don't stick your neck out, then it's not on the chopping block." He let his eyes drop back to the page. "Now, shouldn't you be sticking your nose into the Rudimentary of Fire?"

"Yes! Because I haven't been able to do everything in that book since I was six!"

"Prove it and they'll let you move on," he said, with all the annoyance of a weary teacher.

"Prove it and blah, blah, blah," she mumbled mockingly under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She smiled at him innocently. "I think I've more than proven my ability already, and it's ridiculous that I have to write anything down."

"No, what you did was terrify everyone and in the process singed Enchanter Lana's robes."

"She shouldn't have been standing that close!"

Finn fidgeted with the corner of his page, but cracked a small smile. "Then don't bother, and you can continue being stuck in here with me...actually, do bother, so that I can get something done in the forseeable future."

"Well, why are you in here? What did you do? And why are you trying to read three books at once?"

"I've done nothing wrong." He straightened his back and stuck his nose in the air. "I've been allotted this time to do my own research. I'm translating...nevermind, it would go right over your head and I'm not sure I have the patience to explain."

"Sheesh, thanks for the vote of confidence. Don't mind little Riley, she'll just be over here learning the rudimentaries. Although I might come across a word or two that I don't understand, like _and_ or _the_, so please dip into that drying well of patience when I ask for help."

"Cute."

"Aw, you think I'm cute?" She watched as his cheeks reddened a little. "You know you're my most favoritest person I've met in here right?"

"Favoritest is not a word." He kept his eyes firmly downward and missed the exasperated look she gave him.

"I know that."

"It's a dead language," he said quietly, "you can help if you want to."

"I think I'll leave that to you. I'm much more interested in this." She held up her own book and pointed at the title. Every Circle routinely kept a catalogue of its books, and there were scribes tasked with copying all of the newly acquired ones to be sent to the other Circles. Ferelden's recent shipment contained several from Kirkwall on Force Magic. "I've skimmed through, and it's all about manipulating the laws of nature in ways I thought were impossible. Maybe I'll find a way to float myself! Then I'll go to the top of the Tower, jump out the window, and fly away."

"That's your big plan? Please tell me you're joking."

"Of course I am!" She flipped through the pages. "Unless there really is a spell for that..." She leaned over to grab a fresh sheet of parchment and glanced to the doorway behind Finn, and there he was yet again, standing more conspicuously than he probably thought he was. "He watches me like a hawk," she said with a smile and a wink to Finn about her play on words, and quickly ducked back into her seat to hide.

Finn looked back over his shoulder, and yes, there was Riley's Cullen-shaped shadow.

She peeked at him again and cleared her throat loudly just to watch him jump, and jump he did, ever so slightly, before turning around and bumping into a shelf. He knocked several books off of it and hesitated for a moment on whether to pick them up, then fled around the corner and out of sight.

They both shared a quiet laugh at Cullen's expense. "Hmm, since you are a Hawke, then technically that analogy could be turned around. It could imply that he is an avid bird watcher." Finn snorted and his quiet laughter erupted like it was the funniest thing ever.

"You have the weirdest sense of humor, it's no wonder I can't ever make you laugh." She raised a brow at him and stared until he simmered down. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure he's a perv, but it doesn't make any sense really because as much as it pains me to admit, he did help save me." She twisted her lips in thought, trying to sort out the enigma that was Cullen. "I think he's one of those really creepy pervs, like the kind that won't try anything but is quick to grab some of your hair off of your brush when you're not looking. You know, one of those nutjobs."

"No, I don't know, and I hope to not ever know. But you're not the first woman he's done this to. Would it creep you out more or less to know that it was none other than Renna Amell?"

"More! Now it makes a worse kind of sense!" She shook all over, comically exaggerating her shudder. "Do I look a lot like her or something?"

"I don't think so, aside from you both having dark hair and blue eyes."

"That's reassuring. Well, speaking of Renna, when she gets here, it's goodbye Circle hello Wardens for me. I'll miss you Finn."

"They aren't going to just let you walk out of here."

"Read my lips: Right of Conscription. And I know we've never really met but-

"You're family. That means they'll fight the Conscription on the grounds of a conflict of interest."

"Then I guess we'll have to wait and see who wins." She gave him her trademark smug grin. "And in case you're wondering, _that's_ my actual plan."

She sat back comfortably and opened her book, finally falling silent, but the words on the page were blurry shapes with no meaning. After months of actively watching for the slightest opportunity to escape, she now felt more anxious than ever, and was unable to concentrate on much of anything since she found out her cousin planned to visit the Circle. This was not only going to be her best shot at getting out of here, if she succeeded in persuading Renna to help her then it meant she would be legally untouchable by Chantry law for the rest of her life.

"Do you really intend to become a Warden?"

"What?" she asked, startled out of her daydreams.

"Joining the Order won't give you the kind of freedom you're looking for, and it's for life, so I suggest you think twice about it."

"There's nothing to think about. I can either spend the rest of my life in here or out there." She held both hands out palm up and pretended to weigh her choices. "Circle? Or anything besides? Oh, there it goes, see how my left hand is lower?"

"Fine. Don't take it seriously, and you'll be in for a rude awakening when you realize you'll have to adhere to their rules instead of the rules in here...and at least there aren't any darkspawn in here."

"My dear, naïve little Finn, I follow my own rules."

"Meaning what? You plan on being a deserter? That's not very honorable."

"I suppose it isn't, but I never claimed to be so I guess no one will ask me to turn in my badge."

He shook his head and she dared him to comment further with a look that said she had a whole slew of responses ready for him, and each one boiled down to how much she didn't care about anything except getting to her family.

They read in companionable silence for a while, until Clara, the ever chipper gossip, came running into the room with a squeal.

"Did you guys hear?"

They both looked up at her, of course they hadn't heard, it was her way of savoring the moment while she bounced on her toes and waited for someone to beg her for information.

Finn sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, but Riley, who hadn't been subjected to Clara's sparkling personality as long as he had, took the bait in a heartbeat.

"What? What is it?"

"A letter just arrived for Wynne from the King of Ferelden himself!"

"And?"

"Amell isn't coming to give the lecture-

"What!?" Riley stood up quickly, and felt as though she would pass out. A lifetime of uncomfortable bedding, bland meals, and itchy robes flashed through her mind.

"Wait! I haven't told you the best part! You'll never guess who's coming in her stead!"

Riley let herself sink back down into her chair. She looked at Finn, who shrugged sympathetically, and Clara waited to continue until she had their full attention again.

"It's Anders!"

Riley sat there stunned and said nothing, but Finn's interest piqued and he turned around. "I thought he'd never set foot in here again."

Clara made another high-pitched noise of excitement. "The Templars are in an uproar! I just saw Greagoir having a fit outside of Wynne's office!"

"You lot calm it down in here!" The Templar stationed in the library rapped his gauntlet against the stone wall and gave them all a disapproving glare.

Clara whispered, "I'll talk to you guys later. I'm off to spread the news."

Finn turned back around to face Riley. "This will be interesting."

"If by interesting, you mean more difficult."

"He's a Warden too, which means he can conscript, and you don't have the family tie to deal with."

"That pesky family tie was kind of a cornerstone. So now I have to work extra hard to make sure I get in his good graces."

Finn chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think you'll have any trouble."

"Right. From all I've heard, staying there's the real problem. You know him, give me some pointers or something."

"Simply put, I am not having this conversation."

"Come on, pretty please? And then afterwards I'll be quiet for like a whole hour. Imagine how much translating you'll do..."

"I'll take my chances."

"You're no fun."

"So they say."

"Just tell me some of the things he likes, or doesn't like."

"The answer is still a resounding no. Go bother Clara if you really wish to know. I'm not going to help you use him."

"I'm not going to_ use_ him."

"What would you call it then?"

"I'd call it...well, okay, a little bit, but it'll all work out for the best, really. So what's the big deal?"

"There is no deal."

"I think you're harboring a crush on him."

"No! I like females." He burst out with nervous laughter. "But that is quite the portrait you've painted."

"It sure is. If only I knew what he looked like, then I could picture things more clearly." She propped her head into her hands and stared off.

"Stop that will you?"

"I'm going to keep doing it until you agree to help me. So does your underwear match that blue color in your robes, or are they more like that purpley color?"

He covered his face. "Fine. Fine. I'll introduce you but I'm not promising anything more than that."

"Fair enough. I'll take it. You can uncover your face now, I'm done."

As soon as he looked at her she asked, "It's the purple, right?"

* * *

**Anders Present Day**

There it was, Kinloch Hold.

A spire filled with hopeless days and despairing nights-a thing that loomed in the edges of his nightmares-sometimes seen as a shadow amid the desolate ruins of the BlackMarsh as he waded through muck and grime and stagnant mires, his boots sinking heavily into the wet earth. Always trying to get away from it, with aching muscles clawing desperately through the mock memories of the Fade.

Or worse, when the familiar structure was something he was reluctantly travelling towards, which gripped him in terror the most because it coincided with how he always saw it in reality, never looking back all those times he'd run away, but always staring forward at it with leaden steps and a defeated heart when they dragged him back clapped in irons. In his nightmares, it is a destination placed among the stone in Kal-Hirol, smothered with flesh and blood and foulness.

The outline of the tower could hardly be seen through the fog and drizzle of rain, but it wouldn't surprise him if there were brood-mothers waiting at the base and childer-grub scuttling up the sides. He shuddered and pinched his arm to make sure that he was awake. Unfortunately, he was.

He looked back along the road in time to see the carriage he'd rode in disappear around the bend, and thought about shirking his responsibilities and spending a merry week at the Spoiled Princess. Oh, but she would find out, and the punishment would not be worth it. He'd rather face a hundred Templars than to ever be the maid of the Keep again, and thus forced to face the horror of Oghren's chamber pot.

So with a resolve born almost entirely out of fear no matter which way it was cut, he started making his way down the hillside, loaded down by his heavy pack of parchments and books, and even heavier armor. He would much prefer his flashy Tevinter robes that were both more comfortable and infinitely more stylish, but he'd stowed them away in exchange for making a grand entrance. He looked his best, truly. Clean shaven and not a hair out of place, and he was in far better shape than he ever was before. He was a living, breathing, talking and walking example that mages could live outside of the Circle, and be the better for it.

For most of his trip, he'd dreamily stared out of the window of the carriage and envisioned the looks he would receive. There would undoubtedly be several new apprentices who'd bat their eyelashes and swoon as he passed in all his shiny, silver glory, but the best part, would be all the scowls and glares he'd get from Templars, and he intended to rub it in as hard as he could. Well, as hard as he could without ending up on the wrong side of prison bars.

"Ah, I was told to be on the lookout for a Warden." A young, yellow-haired man whom he did not recognize stood at attention upon his approach and offered a welcoming smile and an open hand.

"Well here I am, one Warden, present and accounted for." He stopped short a few paces from the dock and pointed to the griffon insignia emblazoned on his breastplate, which earned him a sidelong glance.

The Templar tried to make polite and civil conversation for the duration of the boat ride, but Anders hardly said a word in reply. The closer he came to the Tower, the more he felt like the same old Anders, just inside of a cumbersome shell that he could hardly wait to shed.

He could do this. He was fine, absolutely fine, that is, until those gigantic metal doors clanged to behind him, sealing his doom, then he was hit with an overwhelming and unwanted feeling of familiarity that made him queasy. He took a few deep breaths and wished he hadn't. The Tower had a distinct odor pervading its halls that he detested, something sterile mixed in with a blend of herbs and burnt bread. He could've went the rest of his life without ever smelling it again.

There was no one to greet him.

No starry-eyed apprentices or scowling Templars. He figured that at least Greagoir would've come down to shoot steam out of his ears and foam at the mouth. He was a little disappointed that he hadn't. The two guards at the door resumed their task of standing absolutely still and staring ahead at nothing, like he wasn't even there. It was a strange thing to behold, normally he would've been clubbed over the head by now and thrown back into the hall.

"Hello?" He waved a hand in front of one of them and got no response. "I - need - to - leave," he said, drawing out each word.

Without question, both of the men began working the complicated mechanics of the door until it eased wide open. It was comforting to know he had such power. A gust of wind and rain blew in and struck him in the face, and he simply stood there and let it.

"Well, if it isn't pain in my arse Anders." A voice he knew said from behind him, and he turned to look at the man.

"And if it isn't old Gladly Hadley!" he replied, with over the top enthusiasm and a wide, shit eating grin plastered across his face.

As far as nicknames go, it wasn't the worst, but Anders knew Hadley hated it. He was Greagoir's second in command, and most would say that he attained the position by being a suck-up. And they would be right. Hadley's reply to Greagoir's every command was "Gladly, Ser."

The jokes were endless, ranging from downright silly to incredibly derogatory.

There was a cold glint in Hadley's eyes before he rolled them, and if Anders could've smiled any wider, he would have, because it was the Templar's way of admitting defeat. The last time he'd called Hadley that, he'd been tossed into a cell, having been the only mage to ever say it to his face. Now though, now he was untouchable. A small thrill went though him. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Hadley cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to cool his anger. "I'm here to make sure you don't lose your way to the First Enchanter's office," he said with a note of sarcasm, and turned on his heels, beckoning Anders to follow.

Anders caught up beside of him and slapped himself on the forehead. "_Oh_, I see. That was a _joke_. It took me a minute because I thought to myself: I don't need an escort, I know my way around the Tower like Hadley knows the way around Greagoir's boots."

"Watch it, mage."

"I believe you mean Warden, or Grey Warden, if you want to be all proper about it, but since we're old friends, I'll _gladly_ forgive your blunder just this once."

Hadley sighed heavily, and Anders delighted in hearing it. He almost felt like he wanted to skip down the corridor, but settled on a few extra springs to his step. He smiled, nodded, or waved at every Templar they passed, and was largely ignored.

"You won't get a rise out of them, or me, no matter how hard you try," Hadley said. "Beyond what's required, we're under strict orders to pretend you don't exist, which I have no problem with."

"Well thanks for sharing your personal opinion, otherwise I'd have never known."

"You're welcome."

"You know, snide isn't really a good look on you, it makes you appear cranky-"

"_Well thanks for sharing your personal opinion_-"

"_Gladly_, anytime."

Anders was pretty sure he heard Hadley's teeth grinding, and judging by the color of his face and neck he was ready to explode. The Templar stopped in the doorway of the next hall and turned to him. "That's it!" he said in a harsh whisper. "I'm going to spell it out for you. Yes, you and I and everyone here knows that you're under the King's protection. And yes, we all know that you lucked into being a Warden because Amell felt sorry for you. But that doesn't mean your opinions suddenly matter. They never did. And even if I could lock you up and throw away the key, I still wouldn't, because you see Anders, just like your place in the Wardens, it'd be a _waste_ _of_ _space_." He added as much venom to the last few words that he could, and held his death stare straight into Anders's eyes.

In truth, the words stung. It was as if Hadley had pulled his doubts and fears right out of him and put them on display. But there was another part of Anders that spoke up in the back of his mind, a small voice that wanted to say: _I've withstood everything you and everyone in this Circle has thrown at me. I've seen things you couldn't wrap your tiny Templar brain around. I've walked in some pretty deep shit in the bowels of the earth and came out alive. I'm a damn good healer. And I'm a bloody damn good Warden! _

But instead, Anders busted out laughing right into Hadley's face, and the man was taken aback by this response. He was expecting an angry outburst, a fireball thrown at his head, harsh words in return, anything, but not that.

"That was quite the rant," he said, half laughing and trying to catch his breath. "I guess bootlicking has more perks than I thought, that was an almost perfect impersonation of His Templariness. You've improved, bravo. I'm betting he told you to jam the stick a little further up your arse." He completed his comeback by bending over and making hand motions at his own rear, while mouthing the words, "Gladly, Ser."

Anders could have said worse things, he could've went on a tirade too and defended himself, but that was just it, a rant showed that you cared. A rant showed a lot of things, in this case, jealousy and bitterness, and no one ever ranted to a waste of space. Anders had Hadley's number, he was just a pathetic man who wiped up after his superior and dreamed of greater things he felt were owed to him. Being a Warden, for one. He stood up straight and offered a huge smile, and the Templar started to frown. The game was won and they both knew it. A petty victory, sure, maybe to some people. But the Anders that spent a year in solitary and endured Hadley taunting him like an animal in its cage, wasn't above pettiness.

Hadley turned without another word and began walking down the hallway as stiffly as though there really was a stick up his ass. Anders didn't follow along behind, no, he caught up right beside of him once again.

Soon they were walking right by the apprentice quarters, and the effect Hadley had made on his mood disappeared entirely. _He's here! _Anders heard someone say. _Really!?_ Another replied, and in an instant the doorways were crowded with mages hoping to catch a glimpse. Sadly, he recognized a few faces, slow learners who were still in their apprenticeship, but mostly they were all new. The sight had him grinning from ear to ear, so many new faces, yet they knew who he was. He was a legend. And what was a legend to do but stop and kiss a hand or two?

A barrage of questions were thrown at random to him. _What do darkspawn really look like? How long are you staying? How is Amell? Is it true what they say about the King? No, screw that, _someone else interjected_, is it true what they say about you?_

"Every word," Anders answered with a wink among a whole host of other questions he didn't quite catch. He was too busy surveying every flutter of pulse, and bat of the eyes, and soaking up comments about his looks and how he was much more handsome than he'd been described.

"Anders," Hadley growled impatiently from up ahead, and motioned for him to hurry up.

He in no way hurried, but did eventually move on, having missed the short brunette at the back of the crowd.

* * *

A/N: As I told a friend of mine recently, I'm more of a cold weather writer, but inspiration to continue this struck out of the blue and so here it is. I'm not going to make any guesstimations about when I'll have the next chapter, just know to anyone reading that I don't plan on abandoning it altogether. As always, thanks to all who read my stuff. Oh and DA3 trailer! Woo!


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